Looking After My Elderly Mother

I am approaching my third coming-of-age ceremony, and my 85-year-old mother is still going strong. Due to her advanced age, she found it difficult to live alone and moved into a care house, but a few days ago, I received a call saying she had been rushed to the hospital complaining of abdominal pain. She seemed fine on Mother's Day a week ago, even though she mentioned having a slight cold, but it seems her condition is somewhat critical.
Without a second thought, I headed to the hospital alone by car.

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I am the middle child of three, but since my younger sister has already passed away, it is just me and my older brother who lives outside the prefecture. When my father was alive, I was the one who constantly visited my parents' home to take care of everything, but since undergoing retinal detachment surgery a few years ago, I lost confidence in my physical stamina and had my brother take over as the "primary caregiver." There were also deeply rooted ways of thinking unique to the countryside in Kyushu involved in that decision.

Perhaps this is said in other regions as well, but here, it is common and taken for granted that the "eldest son looks after his parents." My husband, an only child, had originally left the prefecture for university and found employment elsewhere, but he was called back for the reason that he "must look after his parents." I followed my husband's lead, and although we lived in a two-family house, I lived with his parents for many years (I won't go into whether that was good or bad here). I have already seen his parents off as well.

In contrast, my parents' home was a branch family, so it was somewhat easier as there were no graves or Buddhist altars to maintain, and my parents let us choose our own paths. The industry my brother studied in did not exist in Nagasaki, and since my sister-in-law was also from a different region, it naturally fell to me, who remained in the local area, to take care of my parents. It might be normal now, but even during the New Year, only my brother would return home, and my sister-in-law would not return to Nagasaki for years (citing various reasons).

My husband strongly objected to this.
He would say, "Shouldn't your sister-in-law at least come back for the New Year?"

After my father passed away, my brother once said he would take my mother in, but that promise was also broken (citing various reasons)... (bitter smile).

For these reasons, I was constantly visiting my parents' home, but the stress led to a retinal detachment, and I ended up having to undergo surgery. The surgery was a success, but even while my eyes were still swollen post-surgery, my mother caused a scene by calling an ambulance, and I was called out early in the morning. This time, I asked my husband to drive and left my son, who has an intellectual disability, at home to go to the hospital. My son stayed home quietly for four hours (Thank you!). This incident was one of the reasons I had my brother take over as the "primary caregiver."

It was the following year that we moved my mother into a care house, as her problematic behavior, such as frequently calling ambulances, likely due to the anxiety of living alone, had increased. My brother (and sometimes my sister-in-law) would return home once a month to visit my mother, but her daily life was left to the care house. I also reduced my visits to once or twice a month, and my life finally stabilized.

As I have written before, my son, who attends a Type B support center, returns home shortly after 4:00 PM. My actions were truly limited by time.
I have no regrets about doing my best under those circumstances, and I felt that from now on, I would leave it to my brother and his wife.

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Now, back to my mother.
My mother, who complained of abdominal pain, was subsequently transferred to another hospital and had to undergo emergency surgery. At 85, with many underlying conditions, I was repeatedly warned that there was no guarantee of survival, that she might die during surgery, or that she might end up bedridden and unable to be taken off a ventilator, and was asked if I still wanted to proceed with the surgery. I consulted with my brother over the phone and asked for the surgery, but I was trembling with anxiety alone on a hospital bench, wondering what I would do if something happened before my brother arrived (my husband had to stay home because it was a workday for my son). Fortunately, the emergency surgery was a success, and she escaped the immediate danger to her life. She can even talk. I felt relieved, but at the same time, I briefly wondered if my mother had returned to life for my brother's sake.

My brother, who rushed over with my sister-in-law, also returned home the next day. The hospital told me, "Please start with the person closest," so I had no choice but to be the first contact. Will the days of being on edge for emergency calls return?
I used to envy my brother and his wife for being able to live comfortably without receiving emergency calls, but having served as the "primary caregiver" for several years, my perspective has changed a little, and they say they will make the utmost effort so that my burden does not become too heavy. I don't know how much longer my mother's life will last, but now that it has come to this, I suppose I have no choice but to step up. Based on my past experience, I can predict things to some extent. If it is my role to accompany my mother through her remaining days, I will do so.

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【Hitomi, Hizen History Researcher】
I usually engage in historical activities under the title of "Hizen History Researcher" (self-proclaimed). Hizen refers to the current Nagasaki and Saga prefectures.https://note.com/tai_yuka/n/n6c0dfe86f004

【I have published a Kindle book!】
In February 2025, I publishedKindle "Nagasaki Minor Figures Biography".
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https://www.amazon.co.jp/dp/B0DX7DV2HP